


The Boy Next Door

by Valhalla (Red_Temper)



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Awesome Cosette, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enjolras and Cosette Are Bros, Enjolras experiences feelings, Enjolras-centric, M/M, Pining, Pining Enjolras, Sad Grantaire, Window Messages, Window Notes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-02
Updated: 2016-02-02
Packaged: 2018-05-17 19:09:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5882188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Red_Temper/pseuds/Valhalla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on this <a>Prompt</a>: AU where Enjolras and Cosette live across from each other and become friends via window messages.</p><p>*<br/>Beaming back at him, she held up a piece of card, 'What happened to your face?' in loopy cursive scrawled across it. </p><p>'Which time?' </p><p>'Well, both I suppose.' </p><p>Enjolras wrote in large letters across three different pages. </p><p>'Fight.' </p><p>'Rally.' </p><p>And 'I'm grounded.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Boy Next Door

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bedazedatrider](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bedazedatrider/gifts).



Enjolras stomped into his room, the door slamming behind him louder than intended. However, the audible reverberation of his displeasure brought him a certain vindictive satisfaction.

'Mind the wood panelling, Enjolras darling. This house is blah blah blah,' he could hear his mother scold in his mind.

At the thought of his parents and their particular set of values, a fresh wave of anger had the ache in his jaw flaring up again from too much teeth clenching. Dumping his bag on his bed, uncaring for the books and papers that spilled out and over the side to thump on the floor, he collapsed into his desk chair, head knocking onto the wood top. Muffled noises of aggravation drifted up from his slumped figure and out the open window.

Something hard bounded off his arm, and Enjolras jolted into action; sitting up and running his hands through his hair, pulling out the rubber band tying up the curling ends.

Another projectile landed, bouncing onto his desk. A screwed up ball of paper sat innocently on the wooden top, calling to his curiosity. He closed his fingers on it, just as another ball came flying through the open window.

Enjolras' head whipped up and across the space between his house and the next; his neighbour waved at him shyly and mimed unfolding the paper and reading.

Enjolras' quick fingers had the paper lying flat in no time.

'You ok?' with a smiley face.

Enjolras looked over at the girl, who stuck her thumbs up and did a shoulder rolling Cha Cha with them at him. Enjolras huffed a laugh, outright laughing when she enthusiastically finger gunned him; wincing as the cut on his lip threatened to split. Beaming back at him, she held up a piece of card with 'What happened to your face?' in loopy cursive scrawled across it.

The blonde touched his lip absently and the bruise on his temple. He opened a drawer and took out a slab of paper and a black sharpie.

'Which time?'

'Well, both I suppose.'

Enjolras wrote in large letters across three different pages.

'Fight.'

'Rally.'

And 'I'm grounded.'

And held them up one by one to the window. The girl's face scrunched in sympathy and she held up a sad face, before hunching over her desk, pen tracking over a page before she balled it up and held it up; brows raised.

Enjolras gestured and the ball came flying. He caught it, between the nails of his middle and fourth finger. For someone who disdained sport and usually didn't even try when it came to hand/eye coordination, Enjolras inwardly cheered at the catch. He unfolded the paper.

'Was that the student rally? About school fees and why privatisation is a really bad idea? I really wanted to go to that, but Papa wasn't sure it would be safe.'

Enjolras looked again at his neighbour, with her shining blonde hair with ribbons threaded through and a fruit printed dress. He had seen her before, around, always thinking she was a spoilt, legacy child same as every else their age on the street. But none of the other kids on their street would be caught dead at that rally, even if they were aware it existed. This girl had actively wanted to attend, and while she hadn't been able to; he could hardly fault her father's reasoning. The bruising wouldn't be too bad, and he wasn't concussed; thank god for small mercies.

The girl suddenly shot out of her chair, breaking Enjolras from his reveries, throwing up a quick 'wait for it' hand and disappeared.

Enjolras sank back in his swivel chair, rocking side to side, his head tipped back over the edge of it. Something hard smacked against desk and rolled towards him. Reaching for it without looking, he held up a lollipop with a little note folded around the stick.

'Congrats, you're a radical. Love, Cosette.'

Enjolras laughed and stuck the lollipop in his pen holder. He could hear his mother calling him for dinner and hastily scribbled on a note card; stuck it to the windowsill before dashing downstairs to make nice with his parents, less they prolong his sentence.

'Felicitations, from one bad sheep to another. Enjolras.'

*

That was not the last time Enjolras wasted reams of paper on conversations with Cosette, but he was responsible for all the recycling in his house so he figured it was all right. Even when his ban on any social or organised activities had ended, he still at least wished the girl a goodnight.

Sometimes she would flare her forest nightlight at him in return, if her dad had already gone to bed, and they would send notes back and forth till one of them gave up and went to bed.

And there was of course the Sartre incident, where Enjolras pasted his frustrated and increasingly rude thoughts on the man and his philosophy to the inside of his windows and was almost grounded again when he forgot to take down the single sheet lettered 'FUCK BEING!'

After that they decided if Enjolras had to share anything particularly long winded or rant-like, he should use the flip book that mysterious turned up in his letterbox the next day.

Today was a flip book day.

It wasn't that anything actually bad had happened, in fact he'd gotten his report card that said he was the second top student in the year and he'd come to terms with the fact that he'd never strip Combeferre of his reigning title.

But, Thursday was the ABC meeting after school, and it was a Thursday. Normally, he'd be elated afterwards; delighted that Cosette kept asking to read over the notes from their discussions and was even planning on attending as soon as she worked her father into the idea.

Normally.

This particular Thursday, Jehan had brought a friend, Grantaire – Lord, if he would be forgetting that name anytime soon. Jehan had met him in classics and they shared literature with Combeferre; it was Jehan who thought it would be fun to introduce the two of them. Enjolras had decided since then that they would be getting a dictionary for their next birthday so they could learn the definition of fun.

It was nice for the first minute, when he took Enjolras' hand in his watercolour and ink streaked fingers and said, "Nice to meet you -"

With his ridiculous sea green beanie - it wasn't even winter - and dark curls hanging out round his ears and over his forehead and his lovely, lovely eyes.

Enjolras' mind was suddenly making the same sound as a staticky TV.

"– Apollo."

And the moment was over; and it turned out, once Grantaire had been alerted to Enjolras' presence in the world, his only goal was to annoy the shit out of him.

Enjolras found himself telling Cosette as much, rapidly flipping over pages as soon as she had read them, the other boy's sins-by-Enjolras presented in colour with accompanying diagrams.

Cosette started to wonder which of them would finish first, Enjolras or the book.

Eventually she simply intervened by holding up a ready made card – she knew she'd have the opportunity to use it one day – of the winky face emoji perfectly copied and coloured to take up over half the card.

Enjolras stopped in the middle of his tirade and made the sound cartoon characters did when angry steam was about to come out their nose. His face wore a similarly fired up and pissed look.

He flipped through a sizeable chunk of the book and found a blank page.

'When I started talking about petitioning the board for more than one gender neutral bathroom, he kept asking whether I cared about recycling; and when I answered he said, "Good, because that's where all this is going."

'He's goddamn lucky I didn't kick him out.'

Another winky face.

'Fuck off.'

*

The first time Cosette met the boy Enjolras ranted about with such fury that his cheeks developed spots of colour high on his cheekbones that hadn't existed before; she was riding home from school, her little scooter rumbling quietly down the street.

As she pulled into the front yard, a dirt bike – a growling streak of black and lime green – shot round the corner and to the end of the cul-de-sac, pulling up in the gutter of the yard next door.

Glancing up, Cosette could see the sheet of paper pasted to the opposite window; Enjolras was home sick and had clearly been in contact with his friends over the course of the day, judging by what could only be a new rant waiting for her inside.

The rider stepped off the bike, unclasping his helmet and setting it on his seat, fingers twisting in his corkscrew curls; trying to right the worst of the helmet hair before giving up and jamming a colourful beanie onto them.

The boy swung his bag off a shoulder and turned, sighing in the direction of Enjolras' front door. Tilting his chin, he walked up the drive and up to the porch, knocking hastily on the door and shoving his hands into the pockets of his black jacket.

Out of his periphery, he caught sight of Cosette watching him from across the small fence.

One hand emerged from the depths of the jacket and the boy touched the beanie a little anxiously and then waved, lips curling into a crooked grin. Cosette waved back; beaming. Shouldering open the front door, she ran to her room and sprung open the window, leaning out to hear the goings on below.

Enjolras' door opened with a startled cry of “Grantaire!”, followed by a suspicious “What are you doing?”

The boy, who Cosette was ecstatic to know both by name and by face as Grantaire, didn't reply straight away but there was a tell tale thunk that must have been the darker boy's bag hitting the porch. Her assumption was only confirmed when Grantaire said, a little haltingly, "I have your homework from literature, maths and history; took forever to get your maths teacher to agree to hand it over. I suppose it does seem a little suspicious, every maths teacher remembers me and the dramatic exit I took from that particular subject – I may have name dropped you to get them."

He paused long enough to take a breath but not for Enjolras to respond and then continued, "The meeting notes are from Combeferre, he also handed over all his notes for you anyway."

There was a longer pause and Enjolras started to speak, and Grantaire also began to speak again. They cut off abruptly, and tried again. Eventually, Enjolras' voice floated up to the window saying, "You go."

Cosette smiled at the irritated signs across from her as she noted that the blonde sounded a little bit flustered and a little bit touched.

The other boy said back, "If this is a democracy, shouldn't we both talk at the same time and hope for the best. That's fair, right?"

The tone was joking, but Cosette could not hear Enjolras laugh. But then, Enjolras had a habit of laughing in a manner that was more forcibly expelling air from his nostrils than an actual sound.

Enjolras responded with a tone that was more amused than annoyed, and prompted, "Grantaire."

There was rustling and then she heard, "I have the sources you asked for, and…"

Some more rustling.

"These!"

The sound of a Tupperware lid was almost too quiet to hear and then Enjolras said, equally as quietly, "Cupcakes? Did you make these?"

Cosette missed what happened next, if anything happened at all, and Grantaire shifted back into sight at the edge of the porch.

"Get better."

The dark haired boy tripped down the drive and took off on his bike; face hidden by his beanie and the hunch of his shoulders.

Cosette drew back from the window, putting away her things that she had abandoned in the excitement, only turning when the door to Enjolras' room slammed shut.

The blonde was distracted, staring fixedly at the container of brightly frosted cupcakes. Suddenly, he looked up and tore down the frustrated scribblings littering his window; absently flashing a wave as he saw her there.

He sat down heavily at the desk, fingers grazing the edge of the container and jotted down a new note with his other hand.

'I'll never understand.'

Cosette grinned knowingly and sent him her own note.

'I like him.'

The boy across the way shrugged, fingers dancing towards a cupcake and then dancing away again. He frowned heavily at the snack and let out a groan of exasperation, and Cosette mentally shook her head in disappointment. She held up another sign.

'You're an idiot.'

*

Enjolras didn't enjoy being sick, but he didn't see it as a reason to stop doing all the things he usually did. His mother disagreed.

Enjolras argued but waking up in the morning with a pounding headache and black spots dotting his vision, he suddenly saw the wisdom in not fighting on the issue.

His first day was boring and miserable, only livened by the texts he'd received from his friends. The continual commentary Grantaire provided on anything and everything certainly diverted him, even if he had get up and walk away from his phone at points due an intense need to scream.

Grantaire's visit had been different. he'd been enjoying the other boy's texts, but the thoughtfulness of his appearance had been unsettling if sweet. And that was the thing, Enjolras didn't know the sweet Grantaire that Jehan said existed.

He made him cupcakes. He had collected his homework, handed over other peoples’ notes, and even left him some doodles to enjoy in the corners and along the margins of both.

It was like a goddamn revelation.

It became a problem when the blond returned to school. Somehow he’d never noticed the way Grantaire seemed to be everywhere; across from him at lunch, on the far left in history, his locker was literally two down from him, and he had somehow missed it. And once he had noticed, it was impossible to stop; worse, when he was caught Grantaire only ever looked wildly confused and often sent a two-finger salute and a wry grin his way. Enjolras floundered, looking away quickly so as to not seem like he had been staring – although by all definitions he had been –, and then orchestrated a seat swap with the person next to Grantaire.

It was different from the ABC meetings where they fought and they argued and then left and didn’t interact in person till the next meeting, where it all began again.

At first, when Enjolras plopped down next to him, Grantaire had stifled a somewhat terrified yelp and then sent the blonde a look of utter betrayal when Enjolras started snickering at him, dumping his bag on the desk and unpacking his books, taking out his notes with the dark haired boy’s drawings in the margins. He particularly liked the one of a lamb in a leather-jacket, sunglasses, and smoking with the lyrics to ‘Mamma Mia’ scrawled around it. It didn’t seem to make any sense, but then neither did Grantaire. Enjolras liked to think it showed the other boy’s thought process better than anything else. Grantaire had gotten that confused pucker between his brows again, and it didn’t go away till class started and his attention was pulled away.

Enjolras sat through class, hearing nothing that dibbled out of the teacher’s mouth. Instead, his attention was always drawn back to the boy beside him. His hand took down notes automatically but god knows if they were legible or what language they were in, and Grantaire spent the class making smart comments under his breath about the inaccuracies of the material, startling a laugh out of Enjolras with a particularly bad pun.

The bewildered look on the other boy’s face set about a curious tugging feeling in his chest. A cautious smile pulled at the other’s mouth, and Enjolras found he couldn’t stop giggling at the stupid pun, at the absurd look on Grantaire’s face like he didn’t know how intelligent or funny he was, till he banged his head on the desk and then Grantaire started laughing too.

They were glared down by the teacher, but the giggles still bubbled out of their mouths every so often and every time Enjolras looked at Grantaire, the other boy was looking back, a smile at the edge of his lips and a brightness in his eyes that set them sparkling. The thing in his chest tugged harder and Enjolras had to look away. Had he noticed strong colour of Grantaire’s eyes before, the odd patch of gold in the bottom of the right iris, seen the slight crookedness of his lips, the clear smoothness of his skin at a time when no one had clear skin? If he had, it hadn’t hit him like this. He could feel the pulse in his neck beneath his hand, where his chin rested. It was beating strong, hurriedly tripping along, doubling its efforts to get blood around his body with every glance at the tangled curls dripping down the other boy’s neck.

After history, they had lunch.

Grantaire started waiting from him after class; they would walk back to their lockers together and then, leaning against his locker, hands buried deep in his pockets, hat pulled low over his curls, Grantaire would wait so they could walk to lunch together as well. Every so often, he’d be waiting with his chin tucked down; his eyes averted, his expression hidden, and Enjolras would feel the dangerous pull to touch him. On those days, the blonde would shut his locker door softly and ask, “You coming?”

There was always tightness in the other boy’s face as he said, “Yeah, sure.”

*

“I’m going to the art rooms today,” Grantaire said into his locker, carefully stacking his books. He could feel Enjolras’ gaze swing around to him and carefully kept his own anchored away, jumping across the art materials he might take with him.

The blonde pushed his locker shut and leant against the outside, arms crossed. “And what about lunch?”

Grantaire shrugged, tugging his beanie down more securely against his ears. The locker bay was clearing and then it would just be him and Enjolras left, he didn’t like to entertain ideas of how that could go.

“What would Joly say?”

Grantaire grunted and shut his locker, turning to lean against it, facing the other boy. He trusted Joly not to say what he knew about Grantaire’s particular living situation, but he wouldn’t be Joly if he didn’t insist on taking the best care of his friends that he could while they were in his sight – and enlisting all his other friends to do the same.

They stared each other down.

Grantaire’s shut his eyes because he couldn’t bear to keep looking at Enjolras.

Enjolras made a sound in his throat and sighed loudly, “I’m not going to drag you there, but I would very much prefer if you would get lunch with me.”

There was a loud whining sound in Grantaire’s head and when he opened his eyes, Enjolras’ hand was on his shoulder, his face very close.

The dark haired boy didn’t stand a chance.

They entered together, the group snapping round to face them as one, and when Enjolras leaned across the table to specifically include Grantaire, to talk him like he did in class, the table rippled with expectation and went quiet – the way they did when a debate that might become a fight was brewing.

Grantaire immediately shrunk back from the table, uncapping his drink and busying himself with a long pull, leaving Enjolras unable to continue as he’d wanted without climbing across the tabletop, and the conversation picked up again quickly. Grantaire picked at his beanie and pulled fingers through the curls that sprung out of it, but said nothing.

Combeferre, to Enjolras’ right, raised an eyebrow in the blonde’s direction, the one dimple in his cheek – what Courfeyrac dubbed ‘the smug dent’ – appearing to compliment the evaluating dart of his eyes.

Enjolras avoided meeting his gaze. He let the conversation wash over him, eating slowly and ignoring the burning presence of Grantaire across the table; quiet as well, but obtrusive and demanding of his attention even in silence. The end of lunch bell rang and Enjolras got up, chucking his rubbish in the bins as he left; the fizzy, light feeling that had come to him in history fading away and leaving something heavy there instead.

Grantaire was already at his locker; the space far more organized than he would have anyone believe, with the a shelf for books, a hook for his bag, and multiple shelves dedicated to impeccably sorted and stored art supplies. The dark haired boy grabbed his books and gave Enjolras his patent wry twitch of the lips on his way past. The blonde stared into his locker unseeing, feeling the brush of the other boy’s shoulder on his sleeve, while his brain replayed the way he’d looked earlier and his unforseen need to comfort him. Enjolras slammed his locker shut and tried to swallow past the thickness in his throat. He liked the boy’s other smile much better.

*

Cosette got home to a new note stuck to Enjolras’ window, hastily scrawled. She could almost feel the blonde’s messy emotions spilling over the letters. The blonde, himself, was splayed over his bed: arms over his eyes, breathing irregular, cheeks flushed, his bag spilling books all over the floor where he’d dumped it at the foot of the bed.

‘How do you know if you like someone?’

Cosette threw him lollipops in sympathy.

*

‘What do I do?’

‘Tell him.’

Enjolras collapsed on his desk with a groan. That was Cosette’s advice.

“Aren't girls supposed to be good at this stuff?” He asked the hardwood. It creaked at him and he was obliged to sit up, rubbing at his fluffy hair in frustration.

“Tell him.”

Tell Grantaire. Tell him that Enjolras longed to wrap his arms around him every time he got that look in his eyes, to kiss him when he looked so bewildered when he made someone laugh, or when Combeferre came to him for help with wording an essay, or he was asked to make a birthday cake for one of their friends when it was widely acknowledged that Grantaire and Eponine made amazing cakes.

Tell him that Enjolras wanted. He wanted so bad.

No, he couldn’t do that. It wasn’t that Grantaire would laugh, he knew him better now and Grantaire would never think to laugh, but he might not think Enjolras serious. He could brush it off. He wasn’t likely to believe it. Worse, Enjolras’ confession might somehow make him sadder. Enjolras couldn’t bear that.

But neither could he bear being near the other boy and being allowed to touch his shoulder or kiss his cheek in parting, but not hold his hand or kiss his mouth. Watching Gavroche ride on his back, his arms tangled around Grantaire’s thin shoulders; Courfeyrac’s enthusiastic and grudgingly accepted hugs; Eponine casually leaning on him at lunch. An ache flared under his ribs and Enjolras thought it might be easier to carve his heart out of his chest than catch eyes with the dark haired boy.

‘I’ll think about it. Thanks anyway, Cosette.’

If Enjolras intended to communicate his feelings, he’d have to be clearer than that.

*

He waited until Thursday, every day leading up to it a special kind of torture where he’d go to school in the morning and see Grantaire at their lockers, his eyes crinkling in the corners as he smiled at Enjolras; and then he’d go home at night and see the other boy again, imagine the taste of his mouth, the blush of his body, as he lay in bed trying to sleep.

By Thursday he was sure he was going mad. There were violet stains under his eyes, his hair drooped, his shoulders slumped, and mustering anything more than a grimace seemed to difficult and fake to be bothered with.

He was quiet all day, and after trying to get his attention earlier in the day, Grantaire was quiet too.

*

“Enjolras?”

“Enjolras?”

“Enjolras.”

The blonde grunted and swiveled his chin, resting on his hand, toward the dark haired boy. The oddly vibrant eyes watching him were soft with concern. The pencil that had been repeatedly digging into his arm was removed.

“Are you okay?”

The blonde grunted again and went back to slowly carving out notes in his exercise book.

The dark haired boy swallowed, looked away, and followed his lead.

*

His usual performance at the ABC meeting was lackluster, and perhaps a bit sharper than normal, with Combeferre taking over early enough to save Enjolras from ruining any friendships.

The blonde could barely heave himself out of a chair but as the end of the meeting drew closer, his body tingled with anticipation and his knee banged repeatedly on the bottom of the desk with a wired sort of nervousness. Combeferre talked on and on and Enjolras sat at the front, glaring foully at the desk as though it was responsible for his exhaustion.

Eventually, the meeting drew to a close and the group broke up. It was hardly the big act it seemed to lean over to Grantaire and whisper, “Can you stay? I’d like to talk you.”

Grantaire startled, his hand jerking a graphite line across the drawing he was working on. He looked up, his eyes wide and guarded. Enjolras tried not to stare as the boy’s lower lip disappeared into his mouth and reappeared caught between his teeth. Grantaire put his pencil down and nodded a yes; taking his time packing up to that he had an excuse to linger. He came to hover awkwardly by the desk Enjolras was sitting at, his bag slung over one shoulder.

“Are you –” he paused looked away from Enjolras’ face, “Are you mad at me?”

The pucker between his brows made an appearance and Enjolras thought about sticking his thumb there to smooth it away.

Grantaire continued, “Because I think we’ve been okay recently, we keep our arguments to this room and I try not to provoke you on purpose, and you treat me like I actually exist and might even be your friend. We talk like normal people every so often, and god if it was annoying you why did you keep doing it?”

He was waving his hands around, the way he did when he started aggravatedly babbling and often couldn’t seem to stop once he started, and Enjolras seized his wrists to stop them. Grantaire hadn’t finished talking yet, his sentences running into each other as he uselessly tugged on Enjolras’ grip in emphasis.

“You even laughed at stuff I said, it was surprising at the time and now I realize you should applauded for your commitment to trying too hard, seriously I –”

Enjolras surged out of his chair and used his grip on Grantaire’ wrist to pull him closer with a sharp tug, Grantaire didn’t even seem to notice till Enjolras’ mouth touched his.

Grantaire’s sharp inhale was electrifying. The smooth fullness of his lower lip caught between Enjolras’ invited the touch of his tongue; the heat of his body against Enjolras’ chest had the blonde’s hands roving to grip at his waist. He broke way gently, the puff of their mingling breath on his cheek. Enjolras could sense the closeness of their lips, watched in hunger the way Grantaire’s eyes lidded as his mouth brushed against the blonde’s, and pressed back in. Their lips slid together and Enjolras ran a hand up to cup the other boy’s jaw, eyes closing.

He felt the other jerk suddenly, and the warmth of his mouth was gone. The blonde’s eyes snapped open to see Grantaire, blinking away what looked like tears and pulling away from him. The dark haired boy shook his head and stumbled away.

“You – I –” he stuttered and covered his mouth with a shaking hand, practically falling through the door as he left.

“Grantaire! Wait!”

Enjolras ran after him, but the other boy had already bolted down the corridor and out of sight.

He left and got home in a daze, crumpling against the back of his bedroom door as soon as he stepped inside. Time blurred and ran together in miserable awareness of his mistake; he woke up there minutes or hours later to his mother calling him, salt tracks at the corners of his eyes.

Cosette’s light was off.

He was too tired to tell her what had happened anyway. He dragged himself downstairs and then later back up, collapsing on his bed and praying dinner was a long time away.

*

Enjolras’ return to consciousness was slow and muzzy. He could hear a repetitive tap on his door, which must have roused him, and, without checking the clock, he dragged himself to the door, expecting his mother standing there imperiously tapping her fingers because he hadn’t come down for dinner. The hall was dark ahead of him, the only light spilling out from his own room. Confusedly, he shut the door and stepped away from it.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The blonde looked back at the door but the cadence was all wrong, he could hear it now. The clock read 11:30, in bright green fluorescence on his bedside table; long past dinnertime.

Tap.

The blonde startled from his thoughts and cautiously moved the curtain over the window aside, it was hard peering through the blackness but saw the distinctive shape of a pebble rebound off the glass with the same sharp tap from before. Over-tired and curious, Enjolras hauled the window open and stuck his head out into the night.

Grantaire blended almost completely into the dark, except for the bright sea green of his hat. In his palm was a collection of garden pebbles, and he leant back on the fence at an indecent angle to throw them. He dropped the pile to the ground when Enjolras spotted him and pointed at himself and then up at the window, his face mostly hidden in shadow, the blonde only able to make out the anxious twist to his mouth.

Only in reaching the house, did the dark haired boy’s confidence falter for a second. Fingers sliding along the smooth brick, he searched for something with determination and at last, his fingers hooked in the sturdy wood of a wall trellis, thick with flowering vines.

Hefting himself up, he carefully climbed upwards, while Enjolras’ face shone with worry by the light of his bedroom. Outlined in gold, in sleep pants and loose shirt, he was the most beautiful sight Grantaire had ever seen, his hair mussed adorably from his pillow.

Looking at him and not where he was sticking his hand, he jabbed his palm onto a nail and recoiled, his feet slipping on the vines, unable to recover their footing, his grip reduced to nothing. He fell to the earth with a muffled thump and a quiet cry of “Fuuck.”

Enjolras gasped at the sound and leant halfway out the window. “Don’t be dead, don’t be dead,” he whispered to himself fearfully, “Please get up. Get up. Get up. Get up.”

The light in Cosette’s room clicked on and her window scraped open, her gauzy curtains fluttering behind her. She looked from Enjolras’ panicked face, to the boy rolling himself up on the grass, and everything in her mind clicked together. She called down to the boy below.

“Um, excuse me, Grantaire?”

The boy jolted and twisted around, looking from the light bathed Enjolras to the softly lit girl across the way. Enjolras could see the artist in the boy memorizing the scene by his darting, analyzing eyes, to recreate later.

Cosette smiled sweetly at him.

“Have you considered the balcony?”

Both their rooms had a balcony not far from the window, which they both never used. The width of the balconies far surpassed the gap between them. Enjolras sighed in relief. That was a much better idea.

“My father is out tonight, I could let you in and you could climb across.”

The boy’s gaze darted back to Enjolras, who withdrew his head from the window and ran to the balcony door and shoved it open. He looked back the dark haired boy and watched him nod.

Cosette was waiting for him on the porch and he disappeared inside, reappearing a hallway and a set stairs later on the opposite balcony.

He smiled a little as he climbed the railing, “Well, this is very Shakespeare,” and jumped across. Enjolras caught as he came down, barely rocking with the force of him and hastily moved to step away, though his body was sluggish with the desire to stay. Grantaire caught him before could and kept him close; close enough anyway.

The dark haired boy was all shadows and highlights, his eyes vibrant and intense, his face carved with interesting features for the shadows to play in. Enjolras could feel the irregularity of his breathing, the rise and fall of chest and stomach against his body, and gripped him loosely at shoulder and waist.

Grantaire swallowed and Enjolras followed the movement of his throat, checked the impulse and kiss and bite him there.

“Why did you kiss me?” Grantaire whispered, his breath coming out of him all at once and taking the strength of his voice away. His body heaved against Enjolras’ and there was spark of heat building in Enjolras’ gut. He had the crazed look of someone who tossed and turned trying to sleep only to find it would not come; Enjolras was intimately familiar with it. It didn't make him any less alluring.

The blonde hauled the other closer, all space gone from between them, his arms looping around the other boy’s back. He felt Grantaire’s breath catch and gasped in return. Their eyes were locked together, Grantaire’s wide and unblinking, vulnerable in the light. Enjolras hoped his reflected the same.

“Because I really really wanted to. I want you so fucking much. Is it normal to like someone this much?"

He tugged the ridiculous hat off of Grantaire's curls; twisting his fingers through, down his neck and around to the heat of his back.

"I couldn’t sleep for thinking about you.”

He heard Cosette’s window tactfully slide shut.

He pressed a gentle kiss to the corner of Grantaire’s mouth. “I like you.”

There was terrified belief shining in the dark haired boy’s eyes and Enjolras pressed a kiss to the opposite corner and smiled against the softness of his lips.

“I really do.”

A helpless sound tore from Grantaire’s throat and he hands fingers threaded into the blonde’s hair as he kissed him hard. Enjolras exhaled through his nose in a rush of surprise and kissed back just a fervently; his passion intoxicating, the other boy’s mouth wild and sweet in equal measure. Enjolras had Grantaire up against the balcony railing in no time flat.

They broke for air, Enjolras pressing quick and tender kisses across Grantaire’s jaw and down his neck, sucking until he heard moans and felt the other flex against him.

“I really like you too, if that wasn’t clear,” Grantaire said breathily, groaning delightfully as Enjolras’ hands worked under his top and splayed across his ribs, their hips bumping together by accident and then pushing eagerly against each other.

Enjolras grinned and planted another voracious kiss on Grantaire’s mouth, licking past his lips and inside; his hand moving from soft skin to cup the other’s neck and jaw, his thumb pulling at his bottom lip. Grantaire shifted against him, rucking their shirts up so skin met skin. Their bellies bumped and slid together and something hot and fizzy skittered around Enjolras’ stomach and into his groin. He groaned into Grantaire’s mouth and hitched his knee over his hip.

Cosette’s light clicked pointedly off, and Enjolras slid his hand up and away from Grantaire’s thigh to his hip, breaking the kiss. The two boys stood in the dim light, chest to chest, trying to regulate their breathing.

His face buried in Grantaire’s neck, his mouth alighting across the soft skin there, Enjolras finally said, “Would you like to come in?”

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on Tumblr at [purely-puck](http://purely-puck.tumblr.com/) and [the-most-marvellous-youth](http://the-most-marvellous-youth.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Written for bedazzledstrider


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